


Dear Molly Hooper

by iphis18



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Dark!Molly, F/M, Gen, Implied Murder, Implied Self-Harm, Implied abuse, Mental Instability, No Dialogue, death present and personified, jeanann verlee, slight body horror, spiders mentioned, unsolicited advice to adolescent girls with crooked teeth and pink hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-21 00:05:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1530680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iphis18/pseuds/iphis18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here is some advice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Molly Hooper

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired in part by Jeanann Verlee's poem entitled Unsolicited Advice To Adolescent Girls With Crooked Teeth And Pink Hair, and in part by a friend's comment on trusting people with black widows for daemons.
> 
> (He was against it. I would like to know who better to trust.)

Dear Molly Hooper:

Here is some advice.

When they pass out the wine, do not drink. Watch their eyes as they do, absorb the way their hands shake, memorize the lines of their lips. Do not drink.  
Act as if you have.

When the reaper comes for your father, do not bar the door. Remember the dark of his eyes, the shake in his fists, the lines of his lips. Step aside, let the devil do his work.  
It is not your time.

When the clock ceases to chime, fix it. Time will not stop for you. Time will not stop for anyone.  
If you need proof, watch your own body. It will remind you.

When they pass out the wine, drink deeply of their stares, the way they glide over you. Revel in the way your heartbeat breaks the silence, and let the chalice pass you by.

When the reaper comes for your mother, open the door. Do not curtsy, but lower your head. Watch his feet as he crosses the threshold. They will be steady. He has not drunk of the wine.  
When you clear her body, place coins over her trembling eyelids, a marble in her faltering mouth, a razorblade in her outstretched hands. It is her time.  
When you clear her bedside and the clock stops, do not fix it. It is her time.  
When you clear the bruises on your body, resist the urge to draw them out again. It is no longer her time.

Do not bury yourself in paper, but make it your home. Bar your teeth against the screams echoing in your head, and become lines of ink scratched against skin. You are prison bars. You are proof.

When the detective comes by, open the gates of your heart, and remember his footsteps as he dances in. They are unsteady.  
Remember the look in his eyes, the ways his hands shake, the lines of his lips.  
Want him all you want, fantasize your heart's fill, dream until you can sleep no longer.  
When you open your eyes, you still will not have drunk of the wine.

When the spider covers your skin with eight thin fingers and a trickle of silk, remember that you are not prey. When he seeks entry, do not bar the door. There will be time for that later.  
Revel in his eyes. How they slide over you.

When the water pulls back from the shore, prepare your gates, and remind the detective that there is ground beneath his feet. Pretend to make yourself steady: remember your eyes, your hands, your lips. Your act is your fortress, your body your proof - but he is not looking for proof.

When the reaper comes for the man within you, smile. He will see himself in your teeth, and there will be no doubt in your mind or his that you have it handled.  
The spider never left your gates. You will make a good widow.

It is your time.


End file.
